Star Crossed Lovers
by TheNinjaEmu
Summary: The Star crossed lovers...of District 2
1. Chapter 1

**Hey people! This is my first story so thanks for reading. Please comment :)**

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_Fwip, thunk! Fwip, thunk! Fwip thunk!_ It's incredible how she does it. Knife after knife finding the bullseye in any target she wants to hit. I watch as they sail through the air, and lodge themselves in. Others watch, jealousy radiating off them that can be felt on the other side of the room. They try to copy her technique, but all in vain. Their knives can't seem to hit any target. They scowel at her, but if she notices, she doesn't show it. Even from here, you can see the sweat dripping like rain from her forehead and her brown eyes show no mercy, inanimate target or not.

"Hunter, shouldn't you be training? With a sword?" I notice the shadow of Coach Grey loom above me, his unforgiving eyes upon me. I swallow and nod. Even if the Coach asks you a question, you never answer unless you want fifty press ups.

I glace at her once more, and begin to train myself. I cut, hack and lash out with my heavy iron weapon, slicing off the limbs of the training dummies. By the end, one of them has no head, another has both arms missing and my sword through its heart and the final one has fallen over due to the loss of both legs.

It's then that Coach Grey calls for the end of the day and dismisses girl with the knives puts down her weapons and grins maniacally at the targets she hit. She walks off swiftly, leaving me staring at a dummy with a knife in its heart.

I jump as Ryan Davis taps me on the shoulder bringing me back to my senses. Andrew Flint is carrying the head of the dummy I attacked. I ask Andrew to know how the head got to the archery station, but he just grins. Ryan swings his axe around for a while, before saying goodbye and leaving me on my own with some fighting dummies and my thoughts.

That girl was amazing. If she's ever in the Games, I know she will be formidable. The one to beat.

She never misses.

And I don't even know her name.


	2. Chapter 2

I run towards the training center with my bag containing my weapons and equipment weighing me down. I had overslept. I know what the consequence is: 50 press ups. Last week, Sophia Connor, a tall, blonde haired spear thrower, was late for the 6th time in a row. She got 120 press ups and sit ups. I can almost feel the pain in my core just thinking about them as I get closer to the academy. Coach Grey never shows mercy. Just like her eyes the previous day. I swear I will find out her name, even if it kills me.

I approach the heavy iron door and push it open. It opens with a loud creaking sound, at least 70 years old. I run down the corridor, my footsteps and heavy breath echoing like ghosts around me. I enter the boys changing room, dump my stuff in a clear space and enter the training room.

As I enter, bent over from exaustion and drenched in sweat, Coach Grey looks up from his training schedule with his hawk like eyes and looks menacingly at me. Everyone turns to stare at me, including that knife thrower. Her expression is hard to read, but I'm guessing that she wants the Coach to finnish what ever he's saying so she can skewer a dummy with the long, wickedly sharp knife she is clinging to.

Coach Grey beckons me forward. The only sounds that you can hear are my echoing footsteps and my rattling breath. All eyes follow me to the front of the hall. I can feel them piercing my skin.

"Hold yourself in a plank position untill I have finnished my schedule." His voice echos in my ear as I hear the command I've been expecting.

I reluctantly drop into the plank position; everyone now listening to the Coaches training for today. The longer I hold it, the more unbearable it becomes. Eventually, I stop listening to the Coach and I just end up concentrating on the hell I have to endure. I hear bits and peaces of his long talk:

"...cornucopia...armour...experience...partners..."

I can feel the sweat dripping down my face, but I dare not stop. After a life time, I am finally alowed to relax. I collapse to the floor, the relief of the end of the plank surrounding me. Coach makes me stand up so he can sort us into partners for training.

"The aim of this excersise," he bellows, "is to help you gain the experience of fighting with others who fight with different weapons. After I have finnished, you will get your armour on and stand with your partner..."

An array of chatter arises as the idea of partners comes up. I begin to try and make eye contact with Andrew, when Coach Grey brings us all back down to earth.

"...which have already been chosen."

A groan emerges from everyone in the room (including me) as the news hits us. The coach brings out a long list of names and after clearing his throat, brgins to read:

"Flint, Andrew and Davis, Ryan." I grunt to myself as I hear my two best friends names called. They got off easilly. Who knows who I'll be put with? Peter Reed, the tall, evil spear thrower, or Frazer Ore, Ryans fellow axe thrower who steals kids money? Coach continues with his list:

"Walker, Zoë and Sheffield, Gordon. Connor, Sophia and Vincent, Darrel. Hammar, Chloe and Young, William..." The list continues on and on. At one point, I feel that my name is never going to be called out. I hear sighs of relief as friends are put together, and groans as enemies are partnered. It is only after I hear "Gates, Tyler and Quinn, Sandra," that I finally hear my name called out: "Hunter, Cato and Stone, Clove."

Clove Stone? Who? After Coach Grey commands us to put on our armour, I ask Andrew if he knows who she is. He has no clue. Of course he wouldn't. He's pretty much introvert to the extreme. The only people he his fiends with are me and Ryan.

I love my armour. It is light weight, crafted in our district especially for us careers and solid enough to allow any weapon that comes into contact with you bounce off of it. I put it on over my shirt and trousers, feeling the solid, yet thin metal. The only disadvantage is that it doesn't cover your head or face. What does it matter? We're all experienced enough to know where to aim. The heart is a the best place for a kill.

I walk out with my beloved sword and try to look as if I have a purpose. Clove Stone...Clove Stone...I ask one of the knife throwers who Clove Stone is, and she points to a girl who is sharpening a throwing knife, without saying a word. I walk over confidently, tap her on the shoulder and say:

"I believe I am your training partner for today?"

She whips round, and the firat thing I notice are her unforgiving eyes. They bear into me, searching for my weaknesses, anything that will bring me down. They stare at me, and I stare back, because I know know the mysterious knife thrower. I now know who can win any fight they are put into.

Clove Stone, the knife thrower.

The girl who never misses.

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**Thats where it stops for now. Please comment and I will update ASAP :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry about the wait: my internet decided it hated me. Remember to comment!**

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[Clove]

I hear someone speaking to me from behind. They can only be speaking to me. I am the only person at this station. I turn around and I look up at the tower that is Cato Hunter. I've never heard of him, but by his build and the weapon he's holding, I'm guessing he's a sword fighter, and a good one at that. He's looking at me funny, like he's trying to place something, but can't. I guess I stare back at him funny too, because instantly, he straightens up and moves his head towards Coach Grey. I get the message: We need to get to the Coach before he gives us press ups.

I follow him over towards where Coach Grey looms over everybody, like a lion taking his pick of the prey. I am by far the shortest person here, so I push my way to the front, using my beloved throwing knives as leverage. I only hope that the Capitol make knives the same as mine, otherwise when I'm picked for the Hunger Games, it could take a while for me to get used to them, which could cost me my life.

The place is as silent as a grave as Coach Grey begins to tell us about todays training. We would be practicing a part of the Hunger Games. The Blood Bath! The part which means life if you get what you went in for, or death if someone takes what you need or, of course, if another tribute kills you. Our weapons would be in the mouth of the Cornucopia the Capitol so generously provided us with (but only because we supply them with their peacekeepers and they thought it would only be for decoration) and we would be practicing against our partners.

"The first to suffer a weapon in their armour looses. The one who delivers the blow wins." Coach finnishes, his voice booming around the large hall. The word "wins" echos around the room before fading away.

I know I am at a large advantage. Knife throwing is distance. Unless this Cato can throw a sword fifty meters, I will win. I know it.

We hand our weapons to the Coach, who makes us wait while he puts them inside the cornucopia. We won't know where they are, so it adds to the realism and drama of the exercise. The tension in the room is unmistakeable. Even though it is only training, every career wants to win. Everyone sees this as a competition. You don't have to ask to know. He comes back in and we all obediently line up to go outside onto our field where the golden cornucopia stands, blinding light reflecting of its golden surface.

As we get closer, I look around for my knives, but they are too well hidden. I see Cato a few steps ahead of me. I refuse to be beaten by him. I refuse.

We stand on built in podiums and wait for one minute before we pretend to fight for our lives. I hear the Coach yell "go" at us, and before you can blink, every career is belting it towards the cornucopia. I catch a glimpse at Cato, who is sprinting at full speed towards his wickedly sharp sword.

This drives me forward. I reach the cornucopia and after a quick sweep round of the weapons in front of me, I spot the handle of my 6 inch blade. I head straight for it. I pull up my knife belt and swiftly fasten it to my waste. Cato has reached the sword and is pulling it away. He begins to charge towards me. Without thinking, I run away from the cornucopia at full speed, ignoring the battles surrounding me.

I hear Coach Grey shouting at me for being a coward, but he doesn't understand my plan. No-one ever does. As soon as I am sure I have put enough distance between me and my persuer, I whip round and send a knife whizzing through the air, straight towards his heart. However, he sees the knife coming and he ducks underneath it. He continues straight towards me; his sword glinting maliciously in the sunlight. I send another knife towards his chest, but deflects that with his sword. Great. I am forced into close range fighting. Not something I have been training. Lucky for me, because I am smaller, I can dodge way better. Here goes nothing.

As his sword comes toward my chest, I roll underneath it and aim a stab at his knee. I miss as his leg moves, but get up quickly to avoid being stabbed. I aim the knife at his chest, but it is knocked out of my hand by his arm. I can feel the sweat running down my face as I duck, dodge and stab with my remaining 8 inch blade. It's the longest knife I own, so is probably best for close range.

This goes on for what seems like forever, until I put all my strength into one shove that sends Cato toppling over. I don't know how I managed it, but before I know it, I have my feet pinning his arms down and my knife hovering above the point at where his heart is. His eyes are closed, probably due to exhaustion from the fighting.

I've won, and there's nothing stopping me from planting my blade into his armour. I strike down and hear the thud of metal against metal. If this was the Hunger games, it would be one tribute down and one step closer to victory, riches and fame. I get up and take the blade out of Cato's armour. He gets up; face as red as a lobster and panting like a dog. He shakes my hand and congratulates me on a good performance. It looks like I'm getting better.

On the way back to the training center, Cato catches up to me and asks me about my family. Both my parents were victors at 15: my father winning the 48th games and my mother winning the 52nd. I am 15 this year, so the Capitol will probably make it so my name is deffinately called. Cato seems astounded by this. No-one in the academy has parents who are both victors. About 4 others have one parent who is a victor, like Flora Privett and Wayne Cartwight,but that is it. I haven't told anyone, but if my name is picked, I will refuse volunteers. If it isn't, I will volunteer. Either way, I'm living up to my parent's standards.

I discover that his parents run the blacksmiths down in the center of the town, making horse shoes for the Capitol and weapons for the training academy where we both go from a mine they have underneath their house where they collect iron ore. He shows me the inscription on the blade of his sword and my knife: "Hunter Forge."

We get onto the subject of our fighting techniques, just before we have to get changed. We agree to meet eachother outside the academy so that we can discuss it further. As I pull my armour off, I begin to wonder if Cato is a person who can become my friend. We both share the knowledge of learning opponents techniques as we found out today and we are both skilled fighters. I begin to see him as a mutual friend as we walk home in the early evening, the gentle sun rays warming our backs.

As I say goodbye to Cato outside the blacksmiths, I realise I have made a good friend. I head back towards the victors village. With the events of today swimming inside my head.

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**This chapter seemed like a better length compared to the other two, so I will try to make future chapters about this length. Please comment :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry, short chapter :)**

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Looking at the house, you'd never expect it was the home of a drunkard. The house is exactly the same as the others in the victors village, the only difference being the colour of the door. We decided we wanted a red one instead of a black one some years ago. My mother does her best to keep the place clean and tries to keep the pungent smell of alcohol away as much as possible, but you can still hear the nonsense comments made by a man who is not sober.

I walk down the hall towards the kitchen. The walls are decorated with the plaques my parents received on their victory tours, my father's maces and my mothers throwing knives. When I was seven, my mother taught me to throw a knife 10 meters from the target. Now I can do about 20 meters. I suspect my father would have tought me to swing a mace I he had been clean of the drug, however, I suspect he would have been vomiting all over the floor.

My mother welcomes me home and (as usual) asks me about my day. I told her about my defeat over Cato and how I managed it. She tells me that the kind of people I will meet in the arena will be exactly like Cato, and that if I can beat him, I stand a really good chance of winning. I love how she talks about when I'm in the arena, not if. It's like she knows I will win.

Just as I finish, my father knocks himself out. Not the first time. My mother can't bring herself to devorce him. I don't know if it is for the fame, or just because she really loves him. I'm guessing it's the latter. She only won her games because she's a survivor. She outsmarted the other tributes by giving her allies some supplies, then killing them in their sleep. Gaining 3 times more weapons and food, she was unstoppable. She never intended to win to become famous.

As I walk upstairs to my room, I look at the engraving on my knife: "Hunter Forges." I can't help but wonder if I am in an arena against someone like Cato, will I really make it out?

[Cato]

As soon as I am in the house, I drop my bags and head straight to the anvil. Although my family makes so much stuff, we only get enough money to feed ourselves each day and we spend the left over money on sending me to the training center, so I can train so that when I win the games, we will have enough money for what we need and added luxuries.

District 2 is probably he wealthiest district in Panem, besides the Capitol. We are one of the poorer families in the district. Just our luck.

My parents hear me enter and immediately call out what needs to be done: 10 saucepans, 12 baking trays, 7 sets of horse shoes, 3 swords, an axe, 15 maces, 28 spear heads and 4 dozen arrow heads. We never get a day off.

As the early evening draws near to midnight, I imagine that each hit to a horse shoe is a blow to a tributes head; that each sword put into the fire is a sword shoved into a tributes heart. We just need to hold out a bit longer, until I am good enough to win the games. Then we don't need to worry. Working in the forges for as long as I can remember has helped me build up the muscle I need. It's almost training in itself working here.

As I crawl into bed at 1 a.m., I ponder on how long it is until me and my family die of starvation. If the district boundary was not a 30 foot high wall with barbed wire and 24/7 security, then I would hunt in the woods for my families food. It looks like the only way out of this situation is to win the games next year. I have 11 months to train. It should be long enough. Just before I drift off to sleep, I catch one last thought: Bring on the 74th annual Hunger Games.

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**Next update should be soon. I NEED FEEDBACK! Please comment! :)**


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